


Merry Christmas, Lurch

by nikkiscarlet



Category: Addams Family (TV 1964)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiscarlet/pseuds/nikkiscarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morticia becomes worried when Lurch is unable to get into the Christmas spirit no matter what the family does to entice him. What - or who - could possibly awaken his holiday cheer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Lurch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romankate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romankate/gifts).



Christmas, for the Addams family, is a full month-long affair.

Sometimes it’s even longer if a good snow comes early enough. This year, Gomez woke up to three inches of proper packing snow in late November, and excitedly roused the children to take them out for a morning frolic out in the swamp. I wasn’t so sure I approved at first – all that sun exposure so early in the morning! – but they all seemed so passionate about the idea, and Mama pointed out that a fresh snow made for the perfect time to stock up on bog water for her holiday brews; to capture that crisp, wintery taste of freshly frost-bitten marsh algae. In the end, she and Uncle Fester accompanied Gomez and the children on their adventure, while I stayed behind with Lurch and Thing to prepare for the coming festivities. I suppose you could say that their excitement put me into the spirit of the season.

We began unpacking the decorations and the many necessary props and implements for each of our upcoming traditions. Dear Lurch is so good to have around when decking the halls: he’s just tall enough to get the Santa hat onto Pierre’s head without holding on to his antlers for balance. And then, of course, there’s that strength of his! I don’t know how I’d get the advent calendars down from the attic without him.

Ah, the advent calendars! I suppose I ought to explain: a few years ago we fashioned our own advent calendars for the children, as we found the standard model rather lacking in creativity. All they ever seem to carry is little chocolates shaped like snow men and mittens. Every day of the month was a new disappointment! Our calendar is a model of our own house, scaled down to about doll’s size and cut in half: one section for each child. Every room, closet and cupboard is numbered with a day of the month, to be opened only on that day; and with the increased size, we’re able to fit much more practical and fun treats for the little ones. Just little things, of course: things like dynamite caps, lock picks, spiders, vials . . . whoever gets the half of the house with the conservatory is guaranteed a new Venus Fly Trap on the first of the month, so of course we make very sure to alternate the halves each year very carefully, to avoid spats.

Anyway, as I was saying, Lurch is usually such a great help with these first stages of the decorating process; but I noticed this year that the usual spring in his step was decidedly missing. It wasn’t so much that he was depressed, but more that he lacked enthusiasm, which I found troubling all the same. Lurch is usually the most excited of any of us when the holiday season comes around: he loves hanging the wreath of barbs on the door, greeting the carollers when they come around and listening to the lovely harmony of their songs (and what talented, cultured groups we always get: so many of their songs sound like the most beautiful chorus of screams!), playing Icicle Stabscotch with Thing and making lizard’s-egg nog with Grandmama. But this year, as soon as the rest of the family returned to help with trimming the tree and hanging the stockings and mistletoe, Lurch excused himself to return to the more mundane household chores. I thought perhaps he was just feeling unwell that day, but his indifference carried on through the last days of November and the first few of December. By the fifth I was very worried: the fifth, of course, is _Krampusnacht_ , and he’s always been our Krampus. I was shocked when he handed back the traditional bag of coal.

“But Lurch,” I said, “You love being Krampus! The children are always so happy to see him!”

He appeared to hesitate at that point, but in the end he shook his head. He just wasn’t in the spirit of it: he didn’t want to disappoint anyone with a lacklustre performance. In the end, Gomez ended up playing Krampus. Of course, he didn’t mind it at all: storming into the house in that delightfully furry costume with great big horns on his head, pelting the children with coal as they giggled, and chasing them around with a bundle of birch branches until they all collapsed in a pile of tickles and cuddles. After the children were sufficiently tired out and sent to bed, Gomez put the horns on my head and gave me the birch bundle, saying with that coy little smile of his that there was still one naughty boy who hadn’t received his punishment yet. But I was still too preoccupied with my worries over Lurch to jump right into our private tradition.

“Do you think maybe we’ve done something to offend him?” I wondered.

Gomez shook his head. “Every time I’ve asked, he’s denied it! He says he’s not depressed or angry. He just can’t get into the holiday spirit. I’ve even tried putting a little extra grog in his ‘nog.”

“It’s just so disheartening to think that everyone else is having such fun without him,” I sighed.

“ _Querida_ , don’t worry!” said my darling, wrapping comforting arm around my shoulders. “It’s still early in the month! He’ll get into the swing of things soon. Maybe all he needs is a little Christmas music in the air! I’ll pull out the phonograph tomorrow and we’ll play all the classics!”

And so, the following day, the house was filled with Christmas tunes for hours on end, and Gomez and I danced whenever Lurch happened through the room, hoping to pull him into the festivities with us. By mid-afternoon, however, Lurch ended up turning off the phonograph altogether with a shuddering groan, and went to the harpsichord to play some Bach instead. In an attempt to hide my disappointment, I decided to spend some time in the conservatory and feed my plants. At least my sweet Cleopatra was feeling festive: her tentacles were turning a lovely shade of red.

I was joined some time later by Uncle Fester, who’d just come back from a shopping trip and wanted my opinion on a present he’d bought for Pugsley. I told him I thought it was lovely, but wondered if a grenade launcher might be spoiling him just a tad.

“Aw, come on, Morticia: it’s Christmas!”

“Yes, I suppose so. If only Lurch shared your enthusiasm, Uncle Fester.”

“Don’t let him get to you,” Fester dismissed with a wave of his hand. “He’s been a total bore all week.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say a _total_ bore,” I said, diplomatically, “I wonder if there’s just something _missing_ for him. Maybe once he finds it, he’ll feel more celebratory.”

“Yeah . . . you know, it probably just doesn’t feel like Christmas yet. We haven’t had any relatives drop by yet, after all.”

The thought took me by surprise: of course! The house just needed a little more human warmth to it. In fact, some of our dear cousins would be joining us within the next two weeks, and staying through to the New Year. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought, and gave dear Uncle Fester a kiss on the cheek. “You may be right! Thank you, dear; I feel much more optimistic now.”

“Any time,” said Fester. “Hey: you need any help feeding the plants?”

“Oh, thank you, but no. Cleopatra’s been hungrier since it started getting colder, and it’s made her much more adventurous at feeding time. As dashing a feature as a missing hand can be, Uncle Fester, it would severely limit your capabilities with a firearm.”

Fester nodded gravely. “Not to mention, I’d never perform surgery again! At least she listens to you, huh Morticia?”

“Oh, yes; she’d never harm her mother. Last time she broke off one of my fingernails, she didn’t get hamburger for a week. Only good girls get beef. Naughty girls get crickets.”

“Really? I’ve always rather liked crickets. Especially those chocolate-covered ones Grandmama likes to make.”

“Cleopatra doesn’t like the texture,” I explained.

“More for us, I guess.”

“Precisely.”

Feeling more confident about Lurch, I carried on with my gardening as Fester meandered away to ask Grandmama if she’d be interested in harvesting some crickets with him for a little fondue party, and over the next few days I placed my confidence in our coming guests.

Cousin Itt was the first to arrive, with a bag full of presents that would make Santa Claus blush. He’d just finished a tour of Europe, promoting his new book about public speaking, so I had no doubt that he’d brought us a wealth of treasures from around the continent. Lurch brought the bag in for him, but left it rather unceremoniously beside the tree, rather than taking the time to arrange them underneath, as he normally would. Itt didn’t seem to mind, thankfully: he set about arranging them himself, rather excitedly, chattering away about all the little trinkets he’d found for the children, and the beautiful battle axe he’d found for Grandmama. He wouldn’t say what he’d got for me, of course; no matter how subtly I tried to trick him into letting it slip.

Next to arrive were supposed to be Gomez’ cousins, Bortog and Dropsy Addams, but they called just two days before they were due to arrive to inform us that Bortog had come down with an infection after failing to properly treat a nasty case of Mud Wrestler’s Rash, and so they were staying home so the family witch doctor could keep an eye on her recuperation.

That left only my older cousin Hemlock, who arrived with her son, Lazarus, whom we’d never had the pleasure of meeting before. Supposedly he was always a very shy boy growing up, and would always elect to stay home with the maid whenever Hemlock went visiting; but now as a grown man in his twenties, it would seem he’d come out of his shell a little. Though still quiet, he was a handsome young man, with noblest grey-white skin, hair as black as midnight, slicked back to give him a dashingly severe appearance, and a lovely way of curling his lip whenever he heard a sparrow’s song; which he would immediately follow by hunting down the offending vermin and shooting it down with a blowdart he kept in his jacket pocket. A useful young fellow! Hemlock had been right to brag about him so much over the years.

Still, even with three lovely additions to the household, Lurch remained unmoved by the festivities. He took no part in the Yuletide bonfires and gained no excitement from his Christmas Cracker, even when everyone agreed that his made the prettiest explosion. If anything, he seemed to avoid the festivities all the more once the family showed up. When I addressed the problem with Cousin Itt, he suggested that going to a department store to sit on Santa’s knee always kickstarted his holiday cheer when it needed a little boost. I wasn’t so sure about the idea, but decided it was worth a try. I brought Lurch out with me to find presents for the children, and insisted he get a picture with Santa Claus for our annual Christmas card. With a resentful growl he did as I asked, but before he could even sit down, poor Santa suffered some sort of anxiety attack. I suppose it’s only natural, in those crowded department stores with their awful perfumes on the air and altogether terrible wares on sale. Poor dear. I decided the Santa Claus idea was a bust. Lurch did take some liking to the shopping, once we left the department store and went back to our usual armories and herbal stores, but only where it came to the children. He was even quieter than usual, with something in his eyes I just couldn’t quite decipher. When we got home, Lurch retreated immediately to his room to wrap his own gifts without another word, so I wrapped my presents with the help of Hemlock, Lazarus and Grandmama.

“I know exactly what’s wrong with him,” said Grandmama as she cut out a section of some lovely matte-black wrapping paper. “He’s in a rut.”

“Well of course he is, that’s what I’m trying to fix.”

“No, I mean he thinks of all _this_ as a rut! We do essentially the same thing every year – and besides that, it’s all traditions from our own families, and none from his!”

I gasped. “Oh, you’re right! How awful! He must think us all terribly self-centred . . . .”

“Oh, no, no,” reassured Mama, “He knows we consider him one of our own. I think he just needs something new to make this year a little extra special. The same old routine gets boring after a while, is all.”

I absolutely agreed, and that night, Gomez, Mama and I helped Lurch in the kitchen as he prepared the evening’s dinner.

“Lurch,” I said as I chopped the onions, “we would so like for you to enjoy yourself this year. Are there any Christmas traditions from home that you miss? Maybe we can incorporate them into our own!”

Lurch thought on it for a moment, then shook his head.

“Are you sure? What if we invite some of your family down? Would you like that?”

Lurch looked alarmed, and shook his head all the more violently.

“No, I suppose you’re right, especially after all the trouble we had when your mother came to visit – not that she isn’t a lovely woman.”

Lurch groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Isn’t there anything we can do for you, dear Lurch?”

Lurch looked pensive for a moment, and again he had that strange look on his face, but only for a moment. Then he seemed to shake himself, and quickly denied that there was anything I needed to do for him, even offering me a reassuring pat on the arm before picking up the punch and bringing it out to the table. It’s always best to get it out while it’s still at a boil.

By this point I was ready to give up, but then I felt a tap on my hand, and looked down to see a set of fingers waving at me.

“Thing! I thought you were still wrapping your presents. Dinner is almost ready: perhaps you’d like to help entertain our guests.”

Thing gestured his decline, and beckoned me closer. He had something much more interesting on his mind.

“Thing . . . is this about Lurch?” I asked in a hushed voice, and he stuck up his thumb in confirmation. “Do you know a way to help him?” Again he raised his thumb, before closing his box and tapping on the inside very quietly, so that I had to lean very close to hear.

As I stood listening, Gomez approached me and asked what was wrong.

“Gomez,” I whispered, patting Thing’s box to inform him I’d need a moment. “It’s Thing: he says he thinks he knows what Lurch needs to have a Merry Christmas.”

“Beautiful! I’ll spare no expense!”

“Well, good; because Thing says Lurch has something he wants for Christmas that he doesn’t think he can get.”

“What is it?”

Thing popped out of his box, pointed at the kitchen door, then disappeared back into it. With an exchange of shrugs, Gomez and I went to the door and peeked outside, with Grandmama following us in curiosity.

Outside, we saw Cousin Itt regaling Hemlock, Lazarus, Fester and the children with one of his wonderfully funny anecdotes at the dinner table. Thing made sure to come out of the nearest and most visible box with a broad wave in our direction to capture our attention, then pointed at Lurch, who was pouring the punch. When he came to pouring Lazarus’ drink, his hands began to shake, and he spilled more than he managed to get into the cup – unusual for our normally graceful butler! He shook all the more as he offered the cup to Lazarus, who, with a kind smile and a gentle touch, steadied Lurch’s hands with his own before taking the cup from his hands and thanking him sweetly. Lurch chuckled, nervously, and carried the platter off closer to the children to continue his duties.

“ . . . You don’t think . . . . ” I whispered to Mama and Gomez.

“A crush!” whispered Mama.

“Well I’ll be,” said Gomez. “I had no idea old Lurch played for both teams.”

“Oh, but we have no idea if Lazarus is even interested in men. Or women, for that matter.”

Thing waved again, and pointed at Lazarus, who was leaning on one of his armrests, smiling dreamily. I had thought he was simply smiling at Cousin Itt’s story, but then I noticed his eyes, which were unmistakeably following Lurch. My hand flew to my lips.

“Oh, how sweet!” I gasped.

“A holiday romance,” said Mama. “Of course! What better way to get out of a rut, eh?” She nudged me, and then Gomez, who giggled.

“Oh, but do you think Hemlock will approve?” I worried.

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Well, Lurch _is_ only a butler; and some of my family can be a little on the snobbish side.”

Gomez gave me a cuddle. “ _Cara Mia_ , Lazarus is a grown man. Besides, even if his mother doesn’t approve, he’ll have plenty of support from us! We can bring ‘er around.”

“Yes, that’s true. All right, everyone follow my lead.”

I picked up a tray and carried it out of the kitchen with me, and Gomez and Mama followed suit.

“Everyone,” I announced, “Thing just informed me of the lovely hailstorm that’s supposed to start tonight. I thought it might be nice to eat in the conservatory and watch. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sounds of agreement came all around, and so I set about organizing everyone as we moved table, chairs and platters out to get a good view of the coming storm.

“But we can’t!” remembered Hemlock. “Lazarus is terribly allergic to pollen.”

“Oh, dear, I’d forgotten,” I gasped. Really, I’ve a fantastic memory for those kinds of details: it’s been the defining thing I’ve remembered about Lazarus since I first heard about him in his early teenage years.

“That’s all right,” said Lazarus. “I’m feeling rather tired and would rather stay here by the fire, anyway; don’t let me interrupt everyone’s fun.”

“You’re very sweet, but we can’t leave you without company . . . .” I made a show of looking around before letting my gaze fall on Lurch. “Lurch! Would you be so kind as to keep my dear cousin Lazarus entertained here in the living room?”

Lurch looked startled. “U-uhh . . . .” he stammered.

Lazarus caught my eye, and I noticed the tiniest upward quirk of one corner of his mouth. I winked at him, and he turned immediately to look up at Lurch.

“I’d quite like that,” he told him, laying a hand on his forearm.

I thought Lurch might faint right then and there, but then he nodded with a nervous smile, and took a seat in the chair beside Lazarus’, while I led everyone else to have a seat in the conservatory, closing the door behind me to give them some privacy. Some time after the hail storm had begun and everyone was deeply engaged in a game of Charades with Thing, Gomez and I snuck over to the door for a peek at how the boys were doing inside, and we were delighted to see that they’d moved to the harpsichord, where they were playing a four-handed harmony together. Lurch then stopped mid-song, lifted Lazarus’ right hand, and shyly brought it to his lips for the lightest kiss. Lazarus grinned, and leaned to whisper something in Lurch’s ear.

“Lurch, you old charmer,” I admired aloud to my husband.

“And judging by that blush on Lurch’s face, Lazarus is pretty frisky himself. Must run in the family.” And then he goosed me for good measure.

I grinned and patted Gomez’s face. “Merry Christmas, Lurch,” I whispered. And, just as I was closing the door, I caught sight of dear Lazarus drawing Lurch’s face closer to his by the chin with a gentle pair of fingers.

When Christmas morning finally arrived, it was Lurch who insisted on handing out the presents. Of course, we all had to wait for Lazarus to finish opening the thirty-one presents Lurch had bought for him . . . but I don’t think anyone really minded.


End file.
